


Once Upon a Full Moon

by lokilette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Next Generation, Next-Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5311592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilette/pseuds/lokilette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The win in 1998 was supposed to fix everything. Light conquered Dark, Voldemort fell, and everyone was supposed to live happily ever after. But real life doesn't work quite like fairy tales do, and as the Wizarding World is quickly discovering, some wounds take longer to heal. But the werewolves are sick of waiting. In 2021, they decide it's their turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Raridan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:  
> \- (dialogue) "I'm more certain than I've ever been."  
> \- (situation) This chapter should focus on the tools, symbols, and setting up your characters. You're laying the foundations here, setting things up so that everything is in place for your story to begin.

**Chapter 1**

**Raridan**

_There are two wolves who live in us all:_

_One evil—full of anger, envy, and greed._

_One good—full of love, hope and faith._

_Which one wins?_

_The one that you feed._

_~ Cherokee proverb_

* * *

_Once upon a time there was a big, bad wolf who was neither as big nor as bad as the stories made him out to be. In reality, he just wanted to live a quiet life in the woods. But the townspeople convinced themselves the wolf was a villain, and they feared him. It wasn't his fault that he was a creature of darkness and, as such, that he always returned to the Dark. Still, the townspeople were afraid, so they tried to exterminate him, because that was the only way they could live happily ever after._

_They failed. Now, it's the wolf's turn._

**...oOo...**

**[Spring, 1999]**

**[22 years ago]**

"No, not that one!" Travis launched himself across the bed and snatched  _The Three Little Pigs_  from his mother's hand, returning it to the shelf under the night stand.

Matthew rolled his eyes as he climbed beneath the thread-bare blankets, vowing to tune his family out. He'd outgrown bedtime stories years ago. The war had made it painfully obvious that there was no such thing as happily ever after. But Travis—well, he was too young to remember all of that, and Matthew didn't have the heart to tell him that the stories Mum read every night were nothing more than exaggerated lies.

"Why not that one?" Mum asked, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed and causing the mattress to dip under her weight.

"Because the wolf's the bad guy in that one." Travis didn't even look up as he rifled through their small collection of books.

Matthew poked his head out just long enough to mutter, "The wolf's  _always_  the bad guy, Tray, 'cause it's a wolf," before withdrawing again to the warmth of the covers.

"Well, I  _like_  wolves." Even though Matthew couldn't see him, there was no mistaking the indignation in his voice. "I'd be a wolf if I could. They're better than crummy, old people, at least."

"Travis! What's gotten into you?" Mum asked.

Matthew peeked out to find his brother sitting on the floor with his arms crossed and his lip stuck out in a pout, making it clear that he had no intention of answering.

"He's just mad 'cause the Poke boys were making fun of him again today."

"Oh, dear. Are they still giving you a hard time?" The mattress springs groaned in protest as Mum stood, her dress whispering against her heels as she went and squatted by his side. "I'll call up Mrs. Poke in the morning. I've got a few choice words for her and her husband."

As much as Matthew enjoyed the idea of a confrontation—Mum could get downright scary when she wanted—he also noted the terror-stricken look on Travis' face. No boy wanted his mother interfering. Just imagine what the other kids would say when they found out.

"It's all right, Mum. I took care of it," Matthew said, slipping the blanket down to his shoulders so he could see out.

"I'm afraid to ask, but what exactly did you do?"

"Nothing. I just asked 'em to stop."

Mum quirked her eyebrows, pursed her lips, and gave him  _the look_. The one that said she knew better than to believe that and it'd do him well to not lie, if he knew what was good for him.

"And that didn't work, so I punched him in the face."

"He made Bradley cry," Travis added, stifling a giggle behind his pudgy, little hand.

"Matthew John Morgan, what have I told you about violence?"

Matthew winced at the way his mother's voice gained a shrill, flute-like quality to it when she started a lecture—except without the same melodic ability.

"Relax, Mum, no one saw me."

"Well, there's that, I suppose." She sighed, making it clear that she was far too exhausted to go over this for easily the hundredth time, with it always falling on deaf ears. "Next time, you let  _me_  handle it, understood?"

"Sure, Mum," Matthew agreed, though he shook his head as he rolled so his back was facing her. Like that would ever happen. The kids didn't need any more reasons to tease Travis.

"Here." Mum swooped Travis into her arms, ruffling his wheat-colored hair as she carried him to the bed. Matthew scooted over to make room for them both. Travis pressed against his back, sandwiched between him and Mum. "I've got a story about a wolf that was a sort of a hero. My father told it to me when I was a little older than you."

"Back when you lived in America?"

"That's right. I grew up in Ohio, before I met your father and moved here. This was a legend from the 1800s, when people were settling Ohio. They lived mostly off of farming and livestock, so they ran into a bit of trouble when wolves started killing their livestock. To solve the problem, they decided to hunt the wolves."

"I don't like this story," Travis whined.

"Just listen. It gets better, I promise. There was one wolf, though, who always evaded the hunters. His name was Old Raridan. The hunters managed to kill all the other wolves, creating a wolf graveyard of sorts at a place known as Big Rock. All that was left was Old Raridan and his mate, and he protected her fiercely. There were rumors that Old Raridan was immortal, that he couldn't be killed at all, but that wasn't really true. He was just in love, and people and wolves alike will go to great lengths for those they love. So when the hunters finally managed to corner his mate and shoot her, Old Raridan descended on them, chasing their dogs away and rescuing his wounded love. The hunters opened fire on them both. Despite being mortally wounded, Old Raridan dragged his mate away from the hunters and up Big Rock, where no humans dared to go. There, they died together. To this day, it's said that Old Raridan still haunts the forest around Big Rock, chasing away intruders and protecting any wolves that venture into his domain."

Mum paused to let the story sink in. Travis sniffed but otherwise remained silent. After a minute, he declared, "I don't like it."

"Why not?"

"You didn't say they lived happily ever after."

"That's because they died, stupid," Matthew said. He heard the  _"nya"_  as Travis stuck his tongue out, but he didn't bother to roll over and look.

"I wanted them to live happily ever after," Travis whined.

"They died in the arms of someone they loved. Who's to say they weren't happy, after living a long and prosperous life together?"

Matthew scoffed and buried himself deeper in the blanket, swallowing all the things he wanted to say. Even if it was the truth, he still didn't have the heart to tell his brother that no one really lived happily ever after—not Muggles, not Wizards, and certainly not wolves.

**...oOo...**

**[October 19, 2021]**

**[present day]**

"Raridan?"

He started, freeing himself from the memories that had captivated him. How long had he been standing there in the crisp evening air? At least an hour, judging by the fast-approaching sunset. The sky was already blazing overhead with violent reds and golds. It promised to be a nice night; what more could one ask of the full moon?

"What is it?" Raridan asked over his shoulder, not bothering to look back. She would forgive him eventually for his biting tone. After all, they were mates. This was the one place he went to be alone, so if he could forgive her trespasses, then she could forgive his lack of manners.

"Everyone's in place. It's our turn now. Are you ready?" Her voice sounded almost like a purr, and he could feel his edge softening. It was a power she always had over him, like a siren lulling him to his doom. Even if that were the case, he'd gladly follow her, regardless.

"Of course."

Raridan squatted in front of the headstone he had spent all afternoon staring at, tracing a grimy finger over the words that he'd come to know so well.

_Travis Stanley Morgan_

_1995 – 2004_

_And they lived happily ever after._

"This one's for you, little brother," he said under his breath, patting the stone lightly before standing up. "Let's go, Ylva."

She looped her arm through his, squeezing his forearm gently. She was a pristine marble statue in the fading light, stoic features chiseled from stone, golden hair glowing like a halo. But there was a shadow that flickered in her china-blue eyes. She was ready for the hunt tonight. Eager for it, even.

The world distorted around them, a swirling vortex of colors, and Raridan squeezed his eyes shut as his stomach lurched. No matter how many times he Apparated, he'd never get used to the sensation.

When he opened his eyes, they were at Scotland Place. It was a very Muggle-looking street, with cars rumbling by on occasion and an electric yellow glow leaking out from the windows of the tall buildings. The street lights were just turning on in preparation for the coming darkness, and the streets themselves were only populated by the occasional straggler.

"Are you sure about this?" Ylva asked as they rounded the corner, checking one final time that no one was paying attention to them.

"I'm more certain than I've ever been, my dear."

Raridan held open the door to the red phone booth, and Ylva flashed him a coy smile as she entered. He followed close behind her and dialed 62442. There was a slight grinding as the phone booth started to slide down towards the belly of the Ministry.

Raridan smiled as he caught sight of the sky one last time. It wouldn't be long now and the full moon would be rising. As they were swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel, he whispered, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in."


	2. The Wolf At The Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:  
> \- "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas  
> \- This chapter is what came before, what has happened in the past that has lead to this. It should be a flashback, or at least comprising mainly of flashbacks.

**Chapter 2**

**The Wolf At The Door**

_And you, my father, there on the sad height,_

_Do not go gentle into that good night._

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_~ Dylan Thomas_

* * *

_**[1997]** _

_**[24 years ago]** _

_Eger planted himself in front of the door, arms crossed, doing his best to imitate the scowl that Grandad always gave him when he got in trouble._

" _You're not leaving, are you?"_

_The answer was there plain as day in his father's body language: the averted gaze, the knitted brow, the fiddling with his tie. He was leaving again, and even though he shouldn't be surprised by now, there was still a heavy knot in Eger's gut. He had thought his father's promise had meant something; yet again, it was nothing but lies._

" _Listen, Eggy, I have to go." Dad knelt down in front of him, gently clutching his shoulders and squeezing. It was supposed to be reassuring, but it wasn't, and Eger wished he wouldn't use his nickname to break bad news. "There's been an accident. Everyone in the MMAC is being called in. I don't have a choice."_

" _But you_ promised _. You said we'd spend time together tonight and then you'd tuck me in and tell me a story."_

" _I know. I know I did, and I will. Tomorrow. For real this time. But tonight you can stay with Grandad, and he'll tuck you in. How does that sound?"_

_It sounded like dragon dung is how it sounded, but he couldn't say that because then he'd get in trouble. Instead, Eger whined, "Noooo, I don't want Grandad to tuck me in. I don't like his stories. He always talks about his adventures with some guy named Moody." Eger lowered his voice and leaned in like it was a secret as he said, "And he's really weird and kinda scary."_

" _I know you probably want a fairy tale where everyone lives happily ever after but...Well, life's not that simple, buddy. Grandad knows that. That's why he tells you those stories. There are bad people who do bad things, but that's why I'm here doing what I do, and that's why your grandpa did what he did for so long."_

" _For every bad guy, there's gotta be a good guy, right?" That's what Grandad always said, at least._

" _Something like that." Dad paused to study his features, and even though Eger tried to scrunch up his face and look mad, the fight was draining out of him. What was the point? "So, do you understand why I have to go?"_

" _Yeah, Dad, it's fine." Eger bit his lip and kicked at the carpet, looking anywhere but his father's face. It wasn't fine, but what else could he say? Nothing would change. "Grandad's stories aren't that bad, I guess. Go save the world."_

" _That's my boy."_

_Dad ruffled his hair and kissed him lightly on the top of the head before disappearing into the study. A moment later, Eger heard the unmistakable whoosh of Floo travel._

_Of course real life was messy and not at all like the stories, but just once, Eger wanted someone to pretend that it was—for him. Just once, he wanted someone to pretend there was actually a chance that people could end up living happily ever after._

**...oOo...**

**[October 19, 2021]**

**[present day]**

Darkness. It was the first thing he remembered, and the thing he came back to time and time again like an unavoidable curse. Even as he glanced out of the enchanted Ministry windows, he couldn't avoid it. At some point during his work, night had fallen. That explained the ache in his legs and the pain in his butt. Just another late night in an endless string of late nights.

Eger stood, stretching his muscles slowly despite their protests. The new position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was great, but it wasn't without sacrifice. The more the hours piled up, the more he felt like his father—dodging social engagements, out at all hours, always making excuses. The world was full of bad guys, and there just weren't enough good guys to go around.

With one last weary look at the stack of papers leaning haphazardly on his desk, Eger slipped his overcoat on. He put out the lights with a flick of his wand and pulled the door shut as he entered the hall. If he was lucky, he figured he could get a few good hours of sleep before returning to the beat first thing in the morning.

The silence was shattered by the clicking of heels, and a moment later, Mrs. Granger-Weasley emerged from her office, head buried in the open file in her hand.

"Work late again, Mr. Daniels?" she asked without even glancing up from her papers.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, take care of yourself."

"Of course. Same to you."

She passed by, her shoes click-clacking down the hall, and Eger continued his long walk to the nearest Floo. He knew all too well what Mrs. Granger-Weasley had meant. After all, he was heading the case of all the Ministry members who had gone missing lately. No bodies found. No sign of a struggle. They were just...gone. Twelve people just up and disappeared, and always overnight. Not enough that the Ministry couldn't cover it up and investigate internally, not just yet, but soon they wouldn't be able to hide it from the public. Still, it was enough to recognize that they were on the precipice of something he had hoped to never encounter again in his lifetime.

Eger grabbed some Floo powder in passing and said, "Daniels estate," as he dropped it into the fire. The green flames cleared, and he was greeted with darkness. The old manor was far too big for a bachelor, and it always was draped in silence and cobwebs, but he didn't have the heart to sell it. Grandad still insisted it was time to settle down and work on filling the rooms, but who had the time?

With a sigh, Eger tossed his wand on the end table and slipped off his overcoat, depositing it on the back of the sofa. There was no way he'd get to sleep with the way his mind was racing, so he figured a little something to ease his nerves wouldn't hurt.

He made his way to the liquor cabinet—another inheritance his father left for him. It was like a dance in the dark. Fifteen steps from the sofa, next to his mother's antique floor lamp. Don't catch the rug, and don't break the lamp. He'd performed this dance enough times to know it by heart.

There was no rhyme or reason to how the cabinet was laid out—there never was—so Eger just stuck his hand in and pulled out the first bottle he grabbed. Firewhisky, judging by the size and shape of the bottle. That would do just fine. He tipped it up to his lips and took a swig.

As the liquid burned a trail down his gullet, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It was more than just the alcohol, he knew, that was causing his body to tingle as if electricity was arcing down his spine. It was a feeling he was more than familiar with. Someone was watching him.

Eger scrutinized the room he was in, but the only thing he could see were shadows, waltzing under the light of the nearly-full moon that filtered through the thin drapes. He raised the bottle to his lips again, more cautious this time, watching the room with one eye. By the time he noticed the silhouette in the corner moving, it was too late to reach his wand.

The bottle slipped from his hand as the room was engulfed in a flash of white, and the spell hit him in the chest.

The last thing he heard was the tinkling of shattering glass, and he felt the splattering of liquid at his feet.  _What a waste_ , he thought as he felt himself falling out of consciousness. The darkness rushed to meet him, and he embraced it, because why not? He was used to the dark.

**...oOo...**

_**[1997]** _

_**[24 years ago]** _

_His father was sneaking out. Again. Eger was almost tired of trying to catch him in the act and going through the same charade of apologies and promises that would eventually end up broken. Almost._

" _Work owled again?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame of the study, the way Mum used to when she was mad._

" _Not this time, Eggy."_

_Dad smiled, but Eger knew that look. There was a "but" lingering at the end of that sentence. It just hadn't been said yet. His father glanced at the fire and rubbed his palms together._

" _But we've got one quick stop to make first. I'm just going to swing by the Ministry—really fast, you'll hardly even notice—and then we'll go to Grandad's for dinner. How's that sound?"_

" _You'll be quick?" Eger asked, letting his arms fall back to his sides._

" _Just in and out, I promise."_

_There was that word again. At least this way he'd be there, just in case Dad got distracted and forgot what he was supposed to be doing._

" _All right, but only if I can have_ two  _chocolate frogs for dessert tonight."_

" _'Atta boy, Eggy."_

_Dad smiled, wrinkles creasing his features. There was a twinkle in his eyes that had been missing for a while. Ever since things started going south with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ever since Mum died last year trying to rescue Muggles on the Millennium Bridge._

" _C'mon, I'll show you my new office," Dad said as he steered Eger into the Floo. He had worked hard for his position in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and Eger was proud of him. If only the work days weren't so long._

_The Ministry was full and bristling with life when they stepped out of the Floo on the other end, and Dad wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kept him close so he wouldn't get lost in the swarm. A few people greeted them, witches and wizards Eger had never met, but everyone was in a hurry so no one stopped. Which suited him just fine. He had better things to do than pretend to be interested in Dad's colleagues._

" _It's just here, Eggy," Dad announced, withdrawing his wand from his robes and waving it as he undid the enchantments on the door. He went immediately to his desk and started rifling through papers and manilla folders, but he glanced up momentarily to say, "I'll be just a moment. You can have a look around, if you'd like."_

_Eger walked the perimeter of the office. It wasn't a bad size. Bigger than the cubicle Dad had been working in before and with more privacy, for sure. That meant no more Mr. Tweed, who somehow always smelled of fish, poking his head over the divider._

_A photo on the desk caught his eye, and Eger picked it up. It was of the three of them, though Eger had been too young at the time to remember it being taken. It had only been a year, but he was already starting to forget things about Mum. She was beautiful, though. Too bad he didn't look more like her. He looked like Grandad, he supposed, but with more hair and less wrinkles._

_Reluctantly, he returned it to its spot on the desk, turning his attention to the door of the office. There was something going on in the hall. Someone was shouting, but he couldn't quite make out the words. When he glanced at his father, his stomach somersaulted and his breath hitched in his throat. Dad's face was blanched white, and his eyebrows were practically touching. Something was wrong._

_Then the screaming started, and the air was filled with the sizzle of spells. Colors reflected off the glass of the office windows, creating a dazzling light show._

" _Dad? Wha-"_

_Before Eger could finish the thought, his father scooped him up, and everything became a blur of robes and colors. When he got his bearings back, he realized they were heading down the hallway towards the large meeting room at the end of the hall that had the closest Floo._

_Amid the bumping and jostling of being carried, Eger snuck a cautious glance over his father's shoulder. The intruders were skeletons with black, billowing robes and empty eye sockets—or that's what he thought, at first. But even the realization that they were wearing masks didn't make them any less terrifying._

_Suddenly, he was sliding, and it took a moment for to register that Dad was setting him down._

" _Listen." Dad knelt down in front of him so their eyes met. That was never a good sign. "I need you to go to Grandad and tell him what's happening here. If the Ministry falls today...Just tell him the Death Eaters are here. Can you do that for me?"_

_Eger didn't like where this was going, but there wasn't time to argue. It was important and it had to be done, so he just nodded vigorously._

" _Grab some Floo powder and go. Quickly, now." Eger started to walk away, but Dad grabbed his hand and pulled him tight against his chest. "I love you, Eggy."_

" _I love you too, Dad," Eger mumbled into his robes._

_In an instant, his father was gone, closing the doors behind him with a flick of his wand. Eger was alone, but he could still hear the fighting through the large, wooden doors. The Death Eaters had caught up to them. He dashed across the room, scooping a handful of green powder from the bucket and stepping up to the fireplace._

_Eger paused, just for a moment. Even through the closed doors, the voices outside were loud and clear, enough so to make his hands shake and his knees weak. A cold, hard voice drawled, "Crucio," and his father's screams echoed around the room._

_His face was already wet and sticky with tears, and even though his whole body was trembling, he made sure to steady his voice as he stepped into the fire._

" _Daniels estate."_

_His father never made it home that night. Even though the Dark had won, he knew there were people out there still fighting—raging against the dying of the Light._

**...oOo...**

**October 20, 2021**

**[present day]**

Eger hoped, with the way his head throbbed with every pulse of his heart, that he had died, but no such luck. He opened his eyes to find that he was stretched out on the couch, with the imminent sunrise just starting to turn the world gray outside.

Last night was nothing but a haze of scrambled memories. It involved working late—that much he knew. It always did. After that, the timeline was a bit fuzzy. He didn't remember getting home or falling asleep, but if the shattered Firewhisky bottle in the corner was any indication, it was more likely he'd simply passed out from exhaustion.

Eger grabbed his wand from the end table and cleaned himself off. It was nothing fancy, but it'd have to do.

By the time the sunrise was in full swing, bleeding red and purple and gold onto the sparse clouds overhead, Eger was making his way through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Arriving early had its merits. At least he didn't have to deal with the nuisance of the crowds.

"Hey, Daniels!"

Eger paused at the voice, though he considered simply rounding the last corner to his office and waiting there. Odinel White was a talker, and though Eger's headache had dulled slightly since arriving, it was nowhere near gone. The last thing he wanted was to be caught in the hall when the first wave of Ministry workers showed up.

"Where were you last night?" Odie asked as he jogged the last few paces to close the gap between them.

"What do you mean? I was at home." Eger resumed walking, and Odie fell into step next to him.

"No, you weren't. I tried to contact you through Floo, but you didn't answer. I even sent Potamus with a letter, but he returned with it undelivered."

"I worked pretty late last night. You might've just missed me. And I hate to mention it, but, you know, Potato's getting pretty old."

"You better not let him hear you say that. He hates that nickname, and you know how touchy he gets."

It was true; that owl was a menace. Took a sizable chunk of his finger the last time he made the mistake of calling him Potato to his face.

"Though, I suppose you're right." Odie sighed, shoving one hand in his pocket while he rubbed the stubble along his chin with the other. "He tried to eat my slipper the other day, you know. Guess he thought it was a fish or something. Can't imagine it tasted all that great, though."

They stopped just outside Eger's office, and Odie chewed his cheek thoughtfully for a minute.

"Listen, I'm just glad that you're okay. Had me worried for a bit there."

"I'm fine." Eger pulled out his wand and released all the wards sealing the office. "Besides," he added as he opened the door and turned on the lights, "even if they did kidnap me, you know they'd just bring me right back, the pain in the ass that I am."

"Isn't that the truth." Odie laughed, and Eger felt his edge wearing off a little. Seriousness didn't suit his friend one bit.

"Is there something you needed me for last night?"

Eger threw his overcoat on a chair in the corner, earning him a glare from Odie, who motioned to the coat rack by the door.

"Not exactly, but I found something that I thought you might be interested in." Odie snatched the overcoat up and hung it neatly on a hook with a satisfied smile. "As you know, I've been going through the old werewolf case files, trying to find anything that might help us figure out what they're up to or why they're targeting Ministry members."

"You mean besides the obvious distaste for being treated as second-class citizens?" Eger collapsed into his chair, sinking into the soft leather and cushioning. His whole body ached, and he felt exhausted, even though he had slept like a rock. It was going to be one hell of a long day.

"Vampires get similar treatment, and you don't see them retaliating like this."

"No, they just wait until we're all dead and then laugh as they dance on our graves." Eger motioned to the manila folder in Odie's hands. "What'd you find?"

"One Remus John Lupin. Sound familiar?"

Odie's voice raised the way it always did when he got excited, and he squirmed his way onto the edge of the desk as Eger peeked into the file.

"Grandad knew him. He's mentioned him once or twice."

"That's because he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. But even more than that, he was a werewolf."

"He also died twenty-five years ago. What's he have to do with this?"

Eger snapped the file shut and threw it onto his desk. There was no need to really read it anyway. Odie was already fidgeting, eager to spill whatever it was he'd found.

"Well, it's not so much about him as his circumstance. See, he was turned when he was young by Fenrir Greyback."

"Who's also dead."

"Not the point." Odie shot him a 'shut up and let me talk' look, so Eger motioned for him to continue. "His father, Lyall Lupin, worked for the Ministry. I don't have all the details—the report's a bit shoddy, if you ask me—but Mr. Lupin apparently said some not-so-nice things about werewolves in front of Mr. Greyback."

"Let me guess, Mr. Greyback was less than thrilled?" Eger leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the edge of his desk.

"That's one way of putting it." Odie scowled and pushed his feet back onto the floor before continuing. "In retaliation, Mr. Greyback went to Mr. Lupin's house the night of the full moon and bit his son. Could've killed him, but he didn't. Just turned him."

"That's one hell of a way to get even, but what's that got to do with my case?"

"What if the same thing's happening here? What if they're turning people to get even?"

"That's ridiculous." Eger scoffed and waved his hand to dismiss the idea. Though, Odie never did anything half-cocked, which meant he must have put a lot of thought into the theory and still he ended up at that conclusion. Their eyes met, and Odie quirked his eyebrows. "Say, for some reason, I believe you. Werewolves can only spread lycanthropy once a month under the full moon."

"Sure, if you assume that certain factors are given, like that they've transformed. But if you change the parameters slightly..."

"Such as?"

"Werewolf's blood. It's really just the juices that spread lycanthropy, and only when they're transformed."

"Disgusting, but go on."

"If someone were to, say, collect werewolf's blood during a full moon, they could, in theory, turn someone any time they wanted. Wouldn't even be detectable. Slip it into a drink, some food, anything."

The thought itself was horrifying. Anyone, anywhere would potentially be a werewolf and not even know it until the full moon. That right there would be enough to turn the whole Wizarding world inside out and have it buckle under its own paranoia.

"It's a theory," Odie said, shrugging as he stood up. "I'll keep digging. See if I can find any amount of substantial evidence or anything to lend credence to it. Just figured you'd want to know where I'd gotten."

"Yeah, thanks." Odie made it to the door of the office before Eger called after him, "Hey, Odie? Keep me informed."

"Sure thing."

Odie flashed one last grin before disappearing into the hall, slamming the door on his way out. Eger winced at the thunderclap of sound and the way it rattled around in his brain longer than it should have. Things were about to get very complicated very quickly.

Regardless of what lie he had spoon-fed to Odie, Eger was beginning to have his doubts. He couldn't remember anything after work last night, and it wasn't like him to be unreachable, certainly not since getting this new position. He was directly under the Deputy Head herself, and Merlin be damned if he was going to let all that slip through his fingers. So what really happened last night? Nothing as far as he could recall, but Wizards had rather convenient ways of making people forget, so that didn't hold much weight.

Eger forced his doubts from his mind and poured himself into his work, instead. He spent the day going over the missing wizards cases for what felt like the thousandth time, hoping to find some correlation to point him in the right direction. The last person who went missing, there had been a note, but it was written in alchemical symbols, which few people studied these days. The requisition for a translator had already been put in, but all the paperwork could take weeks to get through, and time wasn't a luxury they had. He'd had no choice but to pass it further up the chain, and he had no doubt that Mrs. Granger-Weasley was down the hall at that moment working on it.

He skipped lunch and took no breaks, and when Eger glanced at the clock again it was 6:30. All that time spent, and he wasn't closer to, well, anything. It wasn't even that late, yet he felt fatigue so deep within him that it was even in his bones, causing them to ache. And the headache! If it got any worse, he was sure his head would simply split open from the pressure. Maybe Odie was right and he'd been overdoing it lately. It was time to call it a night.

As he stood, the first wave of pain broke over him. Something was desperately wrong. The ache had progressed to a burn that seared him from the inside out, reducing him to a useless blob curled into the fetal position on the floor. He tried to cry out, but the sound escaped his lips as a groan as the pain overtook him. His skin itched and burned like it was being assaulted by millions of fire ants. His bones broke beneath his skin with muted pops, each one radiating enough pain to drive anyone mad.

The worst part was the shadow that had been lingering in the recesses of his mind, hidden, that was fighting to break free, and he felt himself slipping. No, he wouldn't give in that easily to the darkness. He had to fight.

Eger pushed himself onto his hands and knees, struggling against his body even as it seemed to be ripping apart. Hair was erupting down his arm, and his fingernails hardened and extended, almost like...claws. Sluggishly, his mind put together the signs. He was transforming...but that was impossible.

The wolf was already at the door of his mind, knocking to enter, and though he tried, there was no way to stop it from taking over. The last thing he remembered was pain and cold and rage, then the darkness was smothering the light. He could've sworn he heard screaming from beyond the door, and his final thought was that he was six years old again listening to his father die.


	3. Snake In The Wolves' Den

**Chapter 3**

**Snake in the Wolves' Den**

_Once upon a time there was a Dark Wizard who sought to conquer the Wizarding world and a boy who lived. There was a know-it-all who realized she still had much to learn and a boy who discovered he was more than just a cowardly lion. The Light vanquished the Dark, and the power of love triumphed over hate. Then, they all lived happily ever after._

_Growing up, I believed in a lot of things. I wished on stars. I thought it perfectly normal that reindeer could fly. I was terrified of the monster under my bed. I assumed good always overcame evil and that everyone lived happily ever after. But happily ever after just ended, and I'm not sure what to believe anymore._

_~ Hermione Granger-Weasley_

* * *

**[October 20, 2021]**

**[present day]**

The quiet that gripped the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was unnerving. Hermione was so used to the bustling crowds that the idea of actually being alone with her thoughts for a change was daunting. They weren't exactly pleasant thoughts, either.

Another wizard had gone missing, something that was becoming far too commonplace, and all signs pointed to the werewolves. Again. It was hard to blame them for resenting their classification as sub-human. Merlin knows she'd been touting equality and fairness since the earliest days of S.P.E.W. Things had started to change, but not fast enough.

The werewolves had taken matters into their own hands—kidnapping, murdering, turning. With the last victim, for whatever reason, they'd left a note. Fat lot of good that did her, unreadable as it was, and she didn't have the luxury of time to research and decipher it.

A sharp rap on the door scattered her thoughts. Hermione hastily smoothed her robes and made sure her hair was in place. There was no hiding the dark circles and fret lines that had become permanent features after months of heading this case, but she could at least attempt to look put-together.

"Come in."

The door pushed open, and the man who stepped through had the same slicked-back, blond hair as always, though with, perhaps, a few more silver hairs than when they had last met. In that, at least, he wasn't alone.

"I hope this is a good time."

"Now is fine, Mr. Malfoy."

He quirked his eyebrows but said nothing. Hermione motioned to the chair across from her, and he took a seat, crossing one leg over the other and leaning his cane against the desk.

"I have to admit, I was surprised to get your owl,  _Mrs. Weasley,_ but I'm always happy to help the Ministry when I can."

"I'm sure you're familiar with everything that's been happening lately."

"You mean what they're calling the 'Werewolf Rebellion'? I've heard some things."

"Then I'm sure you appreciate how sensitive an issue it is, and I trust that anything we say won't leave this room."

"You have my word."

Hermione knew better than to trust it, the very same word that had gotten so many people killed. Still, that was decades ago, and there was a sincerity in those icy eyes that she couldn't deny. Besides, it wasn't like she really had a choice in the matter. She was running out of options; there was nowhere else to turn.

"I need your help."

It took all her professionalism not to respond to the half-smile that crept onto his face as he shifted in his seat and leaned forward slightly.

"Well now, I never imagined there'd come a day when Miss Hermione Granger would require my assistance. Last time I offered my help, you told me it would be, 'a cold day in hell,' I believe it was, when you would let me assist with a case."

Hermione clenched her jaw against all the words she wanted to say: how this meeting was against her better judgment, how he was an absolute last resort, how people really never changed, certainly not as much as he'd have everyone believe.

"Yes, well, things are different," she said instead, sliding the parchment she'd been studying all day across the desk towards him. "And I, unfortunately, never studied alchemy."

Hermione watched his eyes trace the circle in the center of the parchment, then the hexagram, and finally the various alchemical symbols. Understanding dawned in his face as the muscles in his jaw clenched and flexed and fret lines appeared on his forehead.

"Where did you get this?" he asked without looking up.

"It was stuck to the door of one of the victim's houses. I honestly have no idea  _why_  they chose alchemical symbols—"

"Because the history of werewolves is deeply embedded in alchemy. It's how the first werewolf was created. It's how they used to pass encrypted notes to each other. Even the Wolfsbane Potion originally started with alchemy." He was quiet for a moment, finger pressed against his lips as he thought, before saying, "Tell me, how long ago did you find this?"

"A little over a week." Hermione waited, but he didn't say anything, and she hated feeling so useless. "What is it?"

"A manifest, I suppose you could say. Look here." Malfoy set the parchment on the desk and pointed to a symbol that looked like a flower: an open circle on top framed by a bell curve underneath with the length of its stem forming a cross. "This is the sign for antimony, which is often represented as a wolf. And this symbol here," he moved his finger to the right and pointed to two circles connected by an arc, "indicates the process of purifying."

"Purifying what, exactly?"

Malfoy slid his finger to an upside-down triangle with two lines in it.

"Blood."

"How?" Malfoy sat quietly again, ignoring the comment. Hermione let him have his moment, but then a minute ticked by, then two and three. "Mr. Malfoy!"

He visibly started, looking up like he'd forgotten where he was. She was in no mood to play games with him. She needed whatever information he had, and she needed it now. This was the closest they'd gotten to answers in a while.

"Tell me, have you found any bodies?" he asked absentmindedly, still scrutinizing the paper on the desk.

"What do you mean?"

"The wizards who go missing, have their bodies turned up?"

"Well...no."

It was something that had been bothering her as well. They were presumed dead, only because the Ministry had no other way of dealing with the situation, but with how many people were gone, the likelihood of never finding any trace of them...Well, she wasn't so easily convinced.

"What have you found?"

"Here." He pointed to a circle with an arrow pointing off of it.

"Isn't that...the sign for male?"

"Yes, but before that it meant Mars."

"The God of War?"

"Well, yes, but in alchemy it's about controlling your primal urges, your instincts, while still embracing them. Hermione, they're turning people. I don't know how—and it doesn't really say here—but they're manufacturing a veritable army of werewolves. Anyone could be a werewolf, and you'd never even know it until the full moon."

Anyone. An angry throb began beating against her temples. The Werewolf Rebellion had just become very real. Worse yet, she had no idea how to stop it.

**...oOo...**

_**[2007]** _

_**[14 years ago]** _

" _Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived in a village near the forest." Hermione slid deeper into the bedsheets as Rose snuggled closer, resting her head on her mother's chest. Little Red Riding Hood had been one of Hermione's favorites growing up, and her parents would tuck her into bed much the same way. It was a memory she wanted to pass on._

_As Hermione read, Rose squirmed less and less until her breathing became a steady tempo. Even though she was aware the words fell on deaf ears, Hermione finished up the story just the same._

" _...and they all lived happily ever after."_

_By the time she closed the book and set it on the nightstand next to her, Rose was fast asleep, grunting every now and then at something in her dreams. When Hermione glanced up, she found Ron standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. When had he gotten home? She hadn't even heard him arrive._

" _Blimey, 'Mione, she's only a year old. What are you reading her that stuff for anyway?"_

" _You're never too young for a good book, Ron."_

" _A good book?" He snorted, and she shot him a warning glance because if he woke Rose up again then so help her, Merlin. "How can someone not even know that their grandmother's a wolf? I mean, you'd be able to tell, wouldn't you?"_

" _It's just meant to be a bit of fun," Hermione said as she slipped out of bed carefully, making sure not to disturb Rose. "My parents read fairy tales to me when I was younger, too."_

" _Eating little girls and hacking up wolves to bits is fun? Bloody hell, Muggles are scary."_

_Hermione rolled her eyes as she passed him. He was wrong in so many ways. You could tell that someone was a wolf, right? There was a time when she would have said yes, but that was before she met Professor Lupin. Now that she knew better, not all fairy tales seemed as ridiculous as they had growing up._

**...oOo...**

**[October 20, 2021]**

**[present day]**

"What, uh, what else does it say?" Hermione asked, motioning to the parchment. She didn't really want to ask; she didn't really want to know. She couldn't imagine it would start with people turning into werewolves and then get better from there, and wasn't that enough?

"I've never seen some of these symbols before. They're not in the old manuscripts, but then again, like everything else, it changes with the times. But this circle, I'm pretty sure that's the full moon, and this triangle is fire. And this," he slid his finger across the page to a plus sign connected to a capital E, "is ash."

"Is that...a skull?" Hermione asked, pointing to a symbol to the right of where his finger was.

"Yes.  _Caput mortuum_ , or worthless remains. That's what they call the useless things that are left over after alchemy. In other words, us. It's a threat. I don't know against who, but whatever it is, it'll happen under the full moon."

Hermione rifled through her desk for a calendar—neatness had gone out the window along with her sanity—and finally managed to find one shoved to the back of a drawer. It was a bit worse for wear, but she smoothed it out over the desk and scanned the days.

"Tonight," she said as the pulsing in her temple beat more fervently, sounding a warning in her mind. "Tonight's the full moon."

Malfoy pulled a pocket watch from his robes and glanced at it.

"It's already 6:30. The moon will be rising soon."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, you've been very helpful."

With a flick of her wand, Hermione cleared her desk, sending everything back to their proper places. Another flick and a flurry of papers hurled themselves across the room, creating a lopsided, unruly stack that she immediately turned her self-writing quill loose upon. Even though it was after hours, the Ministry never closed, and there were still a good number of people in the department to notify. Everyone needed to be on the lookout. It was going to be one hell of a long night.

"The Ministry appreciates your cooperation, and I hope you don't mind seeing yourself out, but I'm really very busy." Hermione waved her hand towards the door, hoping he'd take the hint.

The first few hastily-scribbled letters were finished, and she swiped her wand towards them. They shuddered for a moment before folding in on themselves to form airplanes that zoomed out of the room.

Malfoy stood and retrieved his cane, but he didn't leave.

"I'm not going anywhere, Herm—Mrs. Weasley. I have no doubt that you could use another person to help mobilize the rest of the department."

"As, uh, noble as I'm sure your intentions are, I can't have you wandering around the Ministry."

"Oh?" Malfoy raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. It was clear she was in for a fight, and she didn't have time for any of it. He, of all people, should realize they were on the brink of war. "And why is that?"

"Because you don't work here. This is beyond your jurisdiction. Besides, what's to say you're not a werewolf, too?"

She had never been so tempted to use "because I said so," not even with her own children. Why did he have to be so bloody difficult? It was feeling more and more like his lifelong goal was to always be in the way, and he was damn good at it.

"Please." Malfoy scoffed as he uncrossed his arms, resting the tip of his cane on the floor. "Do I look like I'd allow myself to become a werewolf?"

No, Hermione had to admit not. Even the thought of it seemed absurd now that it was said. She had no idea how, but Malfoy would find a way to handle it himself, away from the public, like he always did. But that still didn't mean she had any intention of letting him get any more involved in the case than he already was. There was too much at stake.

Before she could properly admonish him, they were interrupted by shouts from down the hall. Her letters should have circulated by now, so even though it was a fool's hope, she thought maybe someone had discovered something. Please let it be that; she didn't want to think about what the alternative would be.

"Stay here," she ordered Malfoy as she stepped out of the office, and he nodded his understanding.

Every other light in the hall was off, as per usual for after hours at the Ministry, but considering everything she knew, it did nothing to ease her nerves. Everything was quiet suddenly. The hall was deserted, and whatever had caused the commotion, it seemed to have died down for now.

"Daniels? Have you found something?"

Eger Daniels was relatively new to the department, which meant he had a lot to prove—a task that he took very seriously. He worked late many nights and put in more hours than most of the veterans. He reminded her a bit of herself, years ago when she first started, and he was damn good at his job.

"Daniels?"

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, tingling down her spine like jolts of electricity. It wasn't like him not to answer. She slipped her wand out of her robe as she approached his office, one foot crossing the other. There was a soft sound coming from the room that sounded similar to crying but not quite. Something about it was familiar, like she'd heard it before, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Everything all right, Daniels?" Hermione asked as she pushed the door open slowly, readying her wand just in case. The door slammed open as something barreled through it, knocking her against the wall and sending her wand skittering across the floor. The impact left her gasping for air, suffocating under a mass of musky fur. The werewolf growled from on top of her, and she could feel the vibrations reverberating through her body. Where had that bloody wand gone? She groped blindly, desperately, along the floor hoping her fingers would brush against wood any moment.

" _Incarcerous_!"

In a flash of white, the weight was lifted from her chest, and she scrambled for her wand, gripping it white-knuckled in her trembling hand. The scent of werewolf still haunted her—earthy like dirt and a bit like a wet dog.

"I told you to stay put," Hermione snapped as she leveled her wand at the werewolf, steadying her nerves and reestablishing her calm.

"A simple 'thank you' would have sufficed." Malfoy tsked as he rested both hands on the top of his cane. "You're welcome, by the way."

"I didn't need your help."

"Right, because you're the great Hermione Granger, brightest witch of our age." Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Hermione cursed inwardly at the burn that was creeping up her cheeks. "You know, it's okay to accept help sometimes."

Now there was a familiar sentiment, one she knew others would echo. It wasn't the first time she had been reminded of it, nor would it be the last.

**...oOo...**

_**[2011]** _

_**[10 years ago]** _

" _Rose, time to come down now," Hermione called, shielding her eyes against the evening sun as looked up into the tree._

" _I_ can't _, Mummy."_

" _Oh? And why is that?"_

" _Because I'm waiting for a prince to rescue me."_

" _From a tree?"_

" _Daddy says a tree almost killed him and Uncle Harry when they went to Hogwarts." Rose nodded solemnly, and it took all Hermione's resolve to keep from laughing at her earnestness. She made a mental note that sometime she'd have to tell the_ real _story. Something told her that Ron hadn't quite done it justice._

" _Did he, now? Can't you just save yourself?"_

_Rose rolled her eyes and sighed. "No, I'm not a prince."_

" _Of course. Silly me."_

_At that moment, the gate creaked open, and Ron stepped into the yard. Impeccable timing, as always. He looked pale and exhausted, the bags under his eyes belying how well his job was going, but he smiled anyway, as if none of that existed here._

" _What's this? Is that a damsel in distress I see?" Ron slipped his coat off his shoulders and let it crumple to the ground, forgotten._

" _Daddy!" Rose giggled with glee, kicking her feet._

" _That's Prince Charming to you, fair lady, and I'm here to rescue you from that vile tree!" He rolled up his sleeves as he approached the tree, sizing up his opponent._

_With exaggerated movements, Ron brandished his wand and swept Rose off the branch, pulling her to his chest and shielding her with his body. He shot a few sparks at the tree, each fizzling out harmlessly in the air, as he shouted valiant-sounding threats at it._

" _There," he announced triumphantly, setting Rose on the ground. "I think that beast learned its lesson. What do you think?"_

" _My hero!" Rose planted a kiss on his cheek before running off towards the house, giggling loudly._

" _Rooon." He looked at Hermione sheepishly as she drew out his name. "What sort of lesson is that teaching her? She doesn't_ need _someone to rescue her. She could've climbed down herself."_

" _Sure she could've 'Mione." Ron slipped an arm around her shoulder, but she pushed it off and motioned to his abandoned coat in the middle of the yard. He went to retrieve it as he continued, " She's an independent little girl, no doubt about that. And in a couple years, she'll want nothing to do with us because she can do it_ all by herself."  _He paused in front of her, planting a kiss on her cheek. "But still, sometimes it's okay to ask for help. Everyone needs help now and then."_

**...oOo...**

**[October 20, 2021]**

**[present day]**

The werewolf grunted and growled, straining against its restraints. He howled, long and low, and the sound was echoed throughout the floor as werewolves joined the chorus one by one.

"You're right, Draco. I could use your help," Hermione conceded with a heavy sigh, even though it still pained her to admit it. There was no telling exactly how many wolves were roaming the halls of the Ministry at this point, but it was a safe bet that it was more than one witch could handle.

"Draco?" He raised his eyebrows in amusement while Hermione narrowed hers.

" _Mr. Malfoy_ ," she corrected in an attempt to save face, but it was too late. There had already been a crack in the armor.

The Daniels-werewolf was still struggling against his restraints, and for a second, Hermione pondered what to do with him. She couldn't begin to guess what had happened, but she trusted him. That's why she had specifically requested for him to fill the position under her. It didn't seem right to just leave him there after everything.

Before she could make up her mind, another howl echoed through the hall, and Daniels ceased his struggling long enough to answer it. There was a snuffing in response, far too close for comfort. It wouldn't be long before the second werewolf discovered them.

"We have to go. Now," Malfoy said, tapping the tip of his cane against his shoe impatiently. It was a nice trick, Hermione thought as she examined him, the way he learned to mask his emotions. Even so, he couldn't hide the way his knuckles were whitening as they wrapped around the snake on the top of his cane or the perspiration that was forming around the edge of his face.

"We can't just  _leave_. These are people, and they need our help." Hermione motioned toward Daniels, who had started whimpering softly as he squirmed.

"No, right now they're wolves, and they don't want your help. They want to eat you. Where's the closest Floo?"

"End of the hall and to the right. You're free to go, but I won't be joining you."

"What exactly do you imagine you'll achieve here? Unless you've developed a cure for lyncathropy, you can't help them tonight."

Hermione chewed the inside of her lip. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. The best thing she could do was fire off a Patronus to Harry and have him gather the Aurors to round up the wolves and retake the Ministry. Besides, there was some other thought niggling at the back of her mind, something that twisted her stomach into knots just at the possibility.

"Fine, let's go."

She tucked her wand back into her robes and started down the hall in front of him. The ropes would wear off Daniels eventually, if his fellow werewolves didn't get to him first and help him out. At the very least, she didn't imagine they would harm each other—wolves had a pack mentality.

They hadn't made it very far when a large, white wolf rounded the corner just in front of them, and Hermione froze in her tracks. He easily dwarfed the other werewolves she had seen in her life, and as if that wasn't bad enough, he had several other wolves on his heels.

The moment their eyes met—her soft brown with his icy white-blue—he began to growl—a deep, guttural sound that sent shivers down her spine.

"This way," Malfoy whispered, pushing her through the nearest doorway. He slammed the door shut and warded it. The wood splintered and creaked as claws tore into the other side.

So Floo was out. They were quickly running out of options.

Malfoy studied her face quietly for a minute before asking, "A Sickle for your thoughts?"

"The last time the Ministry fell, what was the next target?"

She watched understanding dawn in his cold eyes, and then the fear set in. His son was in Rose's year, so he knew what was at stake.

"We have to go to Hogwarts," Hermione said as she hooked her arm in his. Even though it felt wrong, it was the easiest way to Apparate without getting separated. Besides, if she was completely honest, there was some part of her that was glad she wasn't alone—even if that meant her only company was Malfoy.

As the room spun out of focus, all she could think was things weren't supposed to end like this. This wasn't the happily ever after she was promised.


End file.
